The Bus Driver

It was a hot muggy august afternoon. As the bus pulled up, a cloud of red dust swirled around her. She hated that red dust. It always clung to her shoes and clothing staining it a rusty mud color that proved impossible to clean. The doors of the bus creaked open and she stared blankly at the bus driver, hoping that it was the right bus. The woman read her puzzled look and barked in a low voice "Olive branch middle school?" The frightened girl answered "yes". As she began to make her first step onto the bus the woman barked again "yes, WHAT?" The girls face looked even more puzzled than before and she stood there frozen frantically searching her brain for the "what" in question. Offended, the bus driver barked again "Yes ma'am." and glared at the girl as if she wanted to slap her right off the bus steps. "Yes ma'am" the girl repeated as she stepped onto the bus feeling as if the bus driver had just asked her to speak Chinese. It seemed strange to her, and she felt strange that she hadn't known better. She was in Olive Branch, Mississippi now, but her demeanor still screamed Yankee mulatto, even when her thick Midwestern accent didn't give it away. She sat down on the bus in a lone seat, unsure of what the rest of the day would bring.